Chapter 64 – For the Countless Many
“This surveillance footage, along with other evidence, will be handed over to the police.”
Shao Zhan gave no response regarding the video’s authenticity, nor the personal grievances between those involved. He simply reiterated that Xinghai Club would fully cooperate with the police investigation and that the parties involved would receive the compensation they deserved based on the final findings.
“The damage has been done. What I want to make clear is that Xinghai will not shirk responsibility. Since parents entrusted their children to our club, it is both our duty and our obligation to protect their safety. Even though it’s more than ten years late, I still want to offer an apology, on behalf of Xinghai, to Qu Jin and his family.”
Shao Zhan stood and gave a deep bow.
The reporters’ questions grew sharper, more pointed.
Through relentless effort, Xinghai had become one of the country’s top esports teams—especially in the PUBG division, where they had achieved remarkable results.
So why now, reveal a scandal from over a decade ago? Was it a sign of leadership changes or shifts in management? Or had they been blackmailed by someone with inside knowledge, forced to go public to separate themselves from past wrongdoing and salvage the club’s reputation?
“Xinghai is a whole. The Xinghai of the past created the Xinghai we know today. As the current captain of the PUBG division, I’m deeply grateful to the seniors who laid our foundation during difficult times. I can honestly say that without them, there would be no Xinghai—no ‘me’ as I am today. But that doesn’t mean we should turn a blind eye to past mistakes.”
“Esports is a sport. It is competitive athletics. When parents entrust their children to us, the kids are also entrusting us with their dreams.”
Camera flashes kept going off like fireworks. Shao Zhan’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“This was a hard decision. Xinghai’s journey to where we are today hasn’t been easy. And the journey of Chinese esports as a whole has been even harder. Many of my loved ones tried to convince me not to do this. But I believe more people will understand.”
“Chinese esports didn’t make it to the global stage through the efforts of a single player or a single club. What I want to do is not just take responsibility for Qu Jin and his family—but for the countless children who dream of a future in esports. For the future of Chinese esports itself.”
…
On the screen, a steady stream of “teammate eliminated” messages flashed.
Yang Sa, left with only a sliver of health, lay motionless in a patch of grass.
The poison circle continued to close in.
Only he remained—against a full enemy squad of three.
The enemy had just taken out the last two of his teammates.
Given the distance, Yang Sa decisively gave up on the idea of rescuing them. Instead, he held his position at the edge of the safe zone, ready to pick off anyone trying to enter.
His location wasn’t ideal, but it was deliberate—less obvious, harder to track.
Especially now, when he was the last one standing, every positioning decision mattered.
He listened intently to the sound of approaching vehicles while keeping an eye on the player feed. He noticed one enemy had been eliminated—likely claimed by the shrinking play zone.
The opposing team was being cautious.
They would rather risk losing a member to the poison than charge in recklessly.
Yang Sa had a feeling this match wouldn’t end so easily. His suspicion deepened when he saw their vehicle pause strangely at the southeastern corner, then suddenly start moving again—headed in his direction.
He immediately deduced that the loud, showy approach was a distraction.
The real threat was a player who had been dropped off earlier—lurking near the edge of the zone to cut off his retreat.
Yang Sa shifted his position and, taking a calculated risk, looted a nearby deathbox for healing items. In the few seconds he had, his gaze flicked to the wall nearby, where photos of Xinghai’s former prominent players were displayed.
His eyes paused briefly on Jiang Yu’s face—
Then, without hesitation, he raised his weapon and fired, blowing out the tire of the incoming jeep.
No pause.
He spun around and dove into the poisonous zone—to hunt down the ambusher waiting to flank him.
He was gambling.
Betting that this enemy squad wasn’t as well-equipped as they seemed.
Betting their teamwork wasn’t flawless.
[KS used a PP-19 Bizon to knock down ooooomer.]
[KS used a PP-19 Bizon to kill ooooomer.]
Then, he turned his sights again—this time delivering the “death blessing” to the teammate.
…
“Captain Shao! Captain Shao! Just a few more words—please, say something more…”
A top-tier domestic team publicly revealing a scandal from over a decade ago—
In any industry, that would be explosive news.
Among the esports reporters were also longtime fans, and it didn’t take long for someone to dig up Qu Jin’s past.
He was a formidable prodigy—one who vanished like a shooting star, never to be heard from again.
Meanwhile, Jiang Yu, once the star player of Silver Empire, had surprisingly chosen to lower his status to join a young club that had split off from his old team.
At the time, Jiang Yu’s transfer caused an uproar.
He paid an astronomical penalty fee to break his contract, triggering waves of rumors and speculation—but no one ever addressed the matter publicly.
Later, Xinghai Esports Club poured nearly all its resources into building a new team around Jiang Yu.
Step by step, they made a name for themselves both domestically and internationally—eventually silencing the gossip through sheer performance.
Since then, even when top-tier teams from around the world tried to poach him with hefty offers, Jiang Yu remained loyal to Xinghai until his retirement.
As for the staff who left Silver Empire with Jiang Yu, many of them had climbed to the top ranks of Xinghai’s management.
It was hard to imagine that all their victories, promotions, and raises might have come at the cost of a single child.
Perhaps it was the shared secret that made their bond appear so “unbreakable.”
“I have nothing more to say,” Shao Zhan said.
“I’m willing to leave everything to time—to justice. I believe justice will protect the children of the future, and give those of the past the fairness they deserved.” With that, Shao Zhan gave a respectful bow and left the press conference.
…
On the match summary, line after line of “KS” filled the kill report—like a top student acing every subject in school, utterly unconcerned with anyone else’s survival.
Fellow competitors in the match were left marveling at the skill gap.
Among them were two players from Xinghai’s second team, who approached to congratulate the winner:
“Looks like we’re gonna be teammates now.”
Yang Sa gave a faint nod in response.
His cold demeanor was nothing new, so no one took offense.
Du Changcheng, already prepared, extended a hand to the new recruit:
“Welcome to Xinghai.”
Yang Sa removed his mask and clasped Du Changcheng’s hand with both of his.
A faint glint of tears shimmered in his eyes.
Thanks to his years of experience as a coach, Du Changcheng immediately picked up on the teen’s emotional state.
Though the situation wasn’t suitable for a deeper conversation, he simply gave the boy a firm pat on the shoulder.
Team manager Qin Chuan formally welcomed the new member on behalf of the organization and scheduled a time to discuss the contract. He also helped the second team coach wrap up the rest of the recruitment process.
Although Yang Sa had worn a mask, his identity had already been revealed the moment he began sprinting and shooting on the battlefield.
For a top-tier player, recognizing an opponent through subtle details mid-match was the most basic skill of all.
Zhuang Bai, the typically quiet member of Team One, was the first to offer his congratulations:
“Congratulations.”
In contrast, the usually bouncy Fat Tangyuan and Jiang Ranan stood silently at the back of the crowd, their expressions heavy—visibly out of place amid the celebratory atmosphere.
Thinking that the new member still deserved some welcome, Jiang Ranan took a hesitant step forward, debating whether to say something. But someone yanked him back.
“What are you doing?” Fat Tangyuan growled, his round baby face scrunched into a scowl. “You switching sides?”
“What are you even talking about?” Jiang Ranan snapped, shaking off his hand and brushing his hair back in frustration.
Truthfully, he was conflicted himself—his heart undecided and uneasy.
Fat Tangyuan jabbed his chubby finger at his phone’s dark screen.
“If you stand with him, then you’re standing against me, against the captain, against all of Xinghai!”
Everyone present knew that what Shao Zhan had done was deeply tied to this new recruit.
They were all pretending not to see it, but Fat Tangyuan refused to play dumb.
No way was he going to be someone who abandoned loyalty—he was determined to draw a line between himself and the others.
“What are you doing now?” Du Changcheng’s voice cut through the tension, bringing Tangyuan’s righteous fury to an abrupt halt. “Go say hi to your new teammate.”
The grumpy Fat Tangyuan was dragged by the neck to Yang Sa by Du Changcheng.
He tried to keep his bravado up at first, playing the tough guy, until Du gave him two solid punches to the arm. Only then did he reluctantly roll his eyes and mumble a greeting, as if admitting defeat.
…
When Shao Zhan returned to the base, it was already past midnight.
The day’s practice had nearly wrapped up, with players in the middle of their individual free training sessions.
Fat Tangyuan, still lurking around the door waiting for a delivery, was the first to spot him—eyes already red: “Captain…”
Looking worn out, Shao Zhan waved him off.
“Carry on. I just came to check on the new guy.”
Yang Sa was sitting at a newly added gaming desk.
Upon hearing this, he stood up silently and walked out of the training room without even glancing Shao Zhan’s way.
“Coach, look at him!” Fat Tangyuan immediately pointed at the retreating figure, eager to stir the pot as always.
“Shut your mouth,” came the response—not from Coach Du Changcheng, but from Manager Qin Chuan, who stepped in to smooth things over.
His job involved constant communication between sponsors, players, and HQ, and although he was about the same age as the players, he was significantly more tactful and mature.
“You don’t need to worry about team matters. Go on, get out of here.”
Then, turning to Shao Zhan with a bit more warmth, he added: “Hey, you holding up okay over there?”
“I’m not holding up,” Shao Zhan said, putting on a mock-weak expression and half-joking, “I’m in desperate need of Manager Qin’s shoulder for support.”
Qin Chuan froze for a second, clutching his chest as if giving himself CPR, then waved him off irritably.
“Get lost, seriously. You’re blocking the light.” Then he turned and, seeing the disgruntled look on Fatty’s face, curled his finger and gave the round head a playful scratch.
Leaving behind the noise and chaos, Shao Zhan found Yang Sa in the hallway.The latter was leaning with half his body against the wall, smoking a cigarette. Moonlight slanted in through the nearby window, casting a pale silver glow across his profile.
Hearing Shao Zhan’s footsteps, Yang Sa quickly stubbed out the cigarette, awkwardly waving away the smoke.
Shao Zhan came to a stop across from him. His arm itched beneath the cast, and he scratched at it uncomfortably. Standing in front of the person he’d thought about day and night, it took him a moment to find his voice.
“I won’t stay long—I’ve got things to handle. So I’ll keep it short: thank you for choosing Xinghai.” Yang Sa’s head snapped up, the emotion in his eyes too raw to hide.
“I should be the one saying thank you,” he said after a pause. His voice was clearer now, more resolute. “What I owe you, what I owe the team—I’ll pay it all back, little by little.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Shao Zhan said slowly and clearly.
“You don’t owe anyone anything. It’s the team that owes you. These things… should’ve been done a long time ago.”
With his one good arm, Shao Zhan pulled him into a hug and whispered beside his ear: “I’m sorry… for making you wait so long.”